Beacons is the Welsh Word for Hell
by TheNotedMusician
Summary: Due to an assassination attempt by Scorpia, Alex Rider is forced to live in the SAS training camp in Wales. Permanently. Uh-oh.
1. Of Terrorists and Peppermint Pastries

**Beacons is the Welsh Word for Hell**

**1. Of Terrorists and Peppermint Pastries**

_Due to an assassination attempt by SCORPIA, Alex Rider is sent to a new residence at the SAS training camp, Breacon Beacons. Permanently. Uh-oh._

**_Disclaimer:_** I (sadly) do not own Alex Rider, and make no claim to that or to other content I mention here under someone else's copywrite. And, really. Do I _sound_ like Anthony Horowitz, guys?

Alex Rider, known as Agent, Alex, Rider, or Cub, entered the room with two expectations: One, that he would come out of it irrecoverably changed, and two, that his retirement plan would include a lack of peppermint, and a couple of guns. Just in case.

And as he had approached the so-called Royal and General _Bank_, he reflected on the extreme abnormality posing as his life, that would cause even his future old age to be influenced by the British Secret Service, commonly known as MI6.

It all started when he was conceived in a small, one-bed hotel room by the intimate process known as...well, we don't really need to get into that.

To keep matters appropriate, Alex Rider was born to nurse Helen Beckett and MI6 operative John Rider. That's right, MI6; as in, the top secret, classified, associated-with-James-Bond, secret spy organization. Then, after their deaths caused by Scorpia (a terrorist organization, whose name was an acronym for Sabotage, Corruption, Intelligence, and Assassination), baby Alex was sent to live with his uncle Ian, also an agent. Fourteen years later, Ian was killed on a mission, and Alex, after uncovering the truth about Ian's murder and work, was sent briefly to an SAS training camp, then strait into the operation his uncle was killed for investigating.

After completing the assignment incredibly, against all odds, Alex was sent on mission after mission, for one reason or another, with much the same result. All, however, ended with his almost death/maiming/torture/scarring other, and by the time Alex completed his most recent one (and hopefully last), he was both the best and the least willing agent known to Intelligence.

Unfortunately, contrary to his last conversation with the heads of MI6, the choice was not left to him--the spy was just too good to give up. But the dividing factor between him and every other above-average agent was the simple factor of his age. Alex Rider, however else he acted or thought, was fourteen years old, and looked it.

This made him invaluable, as he could blend in where no one else could blend in, escape suspicion when every adult was considered, and cause even the shrewdest criminal to overestimate him.

However, this also was a monumental setback, in that he had to deal with not only an overwhelming, adult-sized job, but with the normal (and unavoidable) torture of school. He also felt the same need as any other teenager to have friends, a social life, and have fun. Instead, he was expected to single-handedly solve global issues, with the world on his shoulders to boot.

In fact, Alex might have given it up and left the burden to someone else had it not been for Scorpia, which continued to haunt his life even in it's dying throes.

Though it had been nearly four months since his last mission ended and he spoke to the heads in a debriefing, it seemed like only yesterday that he had summoned to this very building, and jumped out a window to get past the locked door.

And Alex's only regret had been that it was _him_ that had to go through it.

So, when he received an anonymous call on his cell phone, the young spy could think of any number of reasons not to pick it up. Starting with the usual 'a terrorist could be calling in disguise to set up an ambush and kill him' and ranging to 'the phone could have been switched out with a look-alike that was holding a bomb, and the person calling could have the trigger to set it off.'

Of course, he had thought, it might just be Tom calling to ask him to go to the cinema, or play football in the park. There was only one way to find out. He picked it up.

On the contrary, however, the call was from 'The Royal and General Bank' asking him to come over and talk about his 'finances'. They would send a car to pick him up in thirty minutes. He told the young woman, presumably a low-level secretary or agent, that he would take the tube, and it was the absolute _last time _he would willingly come in to MI6.

It turned out, he was told later, that the woman, Terra Clout, had began work there only a few days ago, and was not to be educated about the company's other aspect for a few days more. She was sent home in hysterics after signing the Official Secrets Act and getting a hurried explanation from Crawley, and it was unknown whether she would return. Oops.

Walking from the nearest tube station to Liverpool Street, where the bank was located, he passed a bakery. Alex realized that, coming straight from school, he hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and could use a pastry or two. But as he studied the options in the window, he spotted a man behind him.

The man was tall and bald, with a dark tan that stood out dramatically in the March weather. However, what marked him even further, to Alex's eye, was his subtle but present muscles, his tense, alert manner, and that this was the third time he had seen him since he got off the tube. Alex cursed, and, thinking quickly, entered the shop the minute the man's eyes left him.

Inside, the shop was warm and cozy, and the smell of freshly baked bread was wafted over to him by the old-fashioned brick oven in the far wall. A bell tinkled as he walked in, and the shopkeeper, a middle-aged, balding man, glanced up from his writing at the front counter on the left.

The spy scanned the room for exits other than the door, but found none. Outside, however, the man was searching for him methodically, and it wouldn't be long before he figured out where Alex had gone. Cursing himself quietly, he resigned himself to a fight, and began to plan.

********

Eight minutes later, a tall suntanned man who looked to be in his early thirties entered the small bakery, Chelsea Delight. The shopkeeper, a youngish strawberry-blonde boy about seventeen wearing glasses, said hello without looking up from the book he was reading, as the bell tinkled to announce him. He took out a piece of gum, and began to unwrap it. The man sneered in response.

A flash of something yellow and moving caught his eye. He looked over just in time to see the door to a small supply closet close. So the boy meant to hide from him! It was obvious his employers had overestimated him. After all, a decent spy would at least stick around to fight, knowing they had no chance of staying hidden for long. The man was, after all, a Scorpia assassin in his own right, and Scorpia never failed. He strode confidently over to the closet, opened the door, and went inside.

Alex watched the man enter through his fringe that hung down low over his head. As soon as the Alex had realized that confrontation was inevitable, the spy had started to brainstorm for a plan. Many things came to mind, but in every situation he thought of, the shopkeeper of the store was either a casualty, or a hostage. Either way had an undesirable ending, so the spy knew the only way to save him was to remove him temporarily from the shop.

Noticing a long-handled baking paddle leaning against the stove, he casually wandered towards it, pretending he was watching the latest batch of bread baking. The man (he could now see his name was Martin, according to the tag) didn't so much as look up. Alex took hold of the paddle in the middle, keeping it out of Martin's line of sight behind the desk, then grabbed a bagel from a basket, and approached the counter.

The man closed the journal, glanced at the bagel, and rang it up on the register. "That would be..."

But he never got a chance to finish. Alex used the handle of the paddle to hit a pressure point on the back of Martin's neck as he turned away, and he dropped like stone, unconscious immediately. Alex glanced at the bagel in his hand, then at the two doors behind the counter, one of them presumably the kitchen. According to the clock on the wall, two minutes had gone by since he had entered the shop. He was running out of time, and had a lot left to do before the man arrived. He had to move fast...

********

So far, everything was going to the plan. He quietly said a greeting, but was ignored by the assailant. That was good. The hastily applied food coloring had managed to tint his hair more strawberry blond, and the glasses disguised his face. His school uniform was covered by a dark blue apron with the shop's seal on the front. He had escaped notice in favor of the target. Now, time to get him where he wanted. He loudly took out a piece of gum, unwrapped it, and started chewing obnoxiously, hoping to cover any noise his plan would make.

Alex dropped the pen in his left hand on the ground. It landed on the balance he had found in the back room almost silently, muffled by the hot pad it was wrapped in. The weight caused the side closest to him to hit the ground (also muffled, this time in paper towels), and the other side to go up. Thus, the egg bagel he had set on it earlier was sent flying across the room, and landed perfectly in the basket he had moved, making nothing seem out of place.

The bald man glanced sharply at it, thinking that the flash of yellow had been hair. To further his belief that Alex had gone that way, he let up the pressure his foot had been exerting on the paddle. As it was wedged in between the door and the doorframe, it would give the appearance of the door being closed from the inside. Alex had pushed it open almost a foot when he dropped the pen, and now he quickly shut it.

The man, he could hear, strode confidently over to the door, opened it, and shut it behind him. Carefully, quietly, Alex got up, and hurried to the door. He pushed the cloth bag of firewood for the stove in front of the crack, and backed it up with a few hastily stacked bricks. He spit his gum (completely normal this time) into his hand and placed it on the back of the 'out of order' sign, then stuck it to the door, for appearance's sake.

Next, the teen opened the other door behind the counter, leading to the kitchen. He was almost sure that the man had accomplices, and if he didn't come out or check in in a certain amount of time, they would assume the worst, and finish the job. Hence, stage two of his plan.

He approached the door that lead into the supply closet, after grabbing a heavy cookbook off the shelf. It had almost ruined his idea, that there was no part with only a single entrance or exit, but instead, he had hidden it from discovery at first glance. The teen figured the assassin would search all the places Alex could be hiding before he realized he was trapped, and started searching for an exit.

So, Alex quietly opened the door, and found himself looking at the lattice of mops he had constructed. He gently, painstakingly, made a hole in the strands large enough to see through, and watched the assassin pace back and forth. Alex watched him for enough seconds to work out the pattern, then quickly stepped through his cover and hit him over the head with the book.

After tying the assassin up and searching him thoroughly so as to remove anything possibly helpful in escape, Alex exited the way he came, and pushed a small table under the handle to prevent it from turning.

Then, he went over to the corner where six heavy barrels sat of the bakery staple--flour. It took him ten more minutes to move one to the middle of the shop and put the others safe in the storage closet. The spy idly wondered what would happen if someone saw this through the windows, but ignored it; his priority was getting out of there alive.

He hastily cut the remaining pieces of cloth into small, half inch strips, then tied them together to make a long string. Then, he tied it around one of the barrels, and did his best to hide it behind objects as he lead it into the kitchen, where it ran out inches behind the door.

A smell of burning made his nose tingle, and he realized with alarm that the bread that had been baking when he entered was starting to burn. And a fire now was something he could _not _afford. Alex found the paddle on the ground where he had left it, and used it to scoop out two blackened pieces of bread, then dumped them in the kitchen sink. He felt sorry for the shopkeeper who's shop Alex was currently ruining, but hoped MI6 would at least reimburse him. After all, it was their fault (excluding some technicalities) that he was in this mess in the first place.

Making one last trip through the kitchen drawers to find a lighter, Alex returned to his seat behind the counter, reading the book he found on the shelves.

********

Half an hour later, Alex was getting worried. The accomplices had not shown up, and he couldn't leave to go to the 'Bank' without taking care of them first. At least there, he had the advantage of a trap set; he didn't want to know what would happen to him in the street. Also, there was the problem that both the assassin and the shopkeeper (whom he had left in the alley between this shop and the next) would be waking up, and he couldn't risk either attempting to escape until he could get MI6 to take care of them.

However, he needn't have worried--his 'luck of the devil' held out even back in London. Just then, he noticed a group of eight men dressed in black with small bulges at their waists and Bluetooth earphones in. Conspicuous much? Alex thought.

They were wandering, apparently leisurely, down the road, looking in the shop windows, and the spy knew they were searching for anything unusual to do with their teammate's disappearance.

He also knew that, unlike the normal passer by fooled by the 'Out of Order' sign, the firewood and the bricks holding down the door would stick out like sore thumbs to them.

Abandoning his post at the counter, the spy slipped into the kitchen, closing the door tightly. He took out the lighter, flipped off the safety button, and moved the rug as far away as possible from the last strip of cloth that came through the bottom of the door.

The tinkling of the shop bell sounded, and the spy peered under the door to assure that it was the group he had seen. It was. He waited for the door to close completely, then quietly clicked the lighter, and held it to the cloth.

His makeshift fuse was long, and didn't burn easily. The teen realized his mistake as soon as he lit it. Not only would it take too long for the fire to reach the barrels, but the fire would be bright, large, and _very_ noticeable. Uh-oh.

Alex had two options, as far as he could tell: Go outside the door and be killed by the explosions, or wait for the men to see the fuse and extinguish the flame, then rescue their trapped comrade and come to kill him. Neither seemed very appealing.

Then, he noticed that not all the burning was coming from outside. The charred bread from the oven...

The spy practically flew over to the kitchen sink, grateful that he hadn't actually turned it on, and it had been somewhat dry before. Alex grabbed the two burning loafs of bread he had hastily shoved in it. Running back to the door, he picked up the lighter, and held it to the first, then the second. Already dry and slightly charred, they caught fire quickly. Then, he threw open the door and jumped outside, cursing in French. The men, as he had hoped, looked immediately at him.

Now came the hard part. He had to behave like any other teenager holding a burning piece of bread, and who had no idea why the men were there.

"What are you _doing_!" One of the assassins shouted as Alex threw the first a few feet away from the fuse.

"Il brûle! Mon Dieu, il brûle!" He shouted in French. Hoping that the foreign language would be another 'difference' for them between the 'shopkeeper' and Alex Rider. With the entire backup teams' attention on him, there was much more chance of being recognized--which would ruin everything, and probably wind up with him dead.

The men were now busy trying to stamp out the fire around them, and Alex knew that the fuse was seconds away from exploding. If he stayed longer, he would, too.

The spy waited until the fire on the second loaf had almost reached his hand, before dropping it with a cry, and sprinting for the kitchen door. He slammed it shut behind him, and went to the other side, as far away from the impending explosion as possible. Then, he curled up into a ball, protecting his head with his arms, and waited.

Ian had once taken the eight-year-old Alex to an exhibit on colonial times at a fair in London. They had walked through an old-fashioned kitchen, where several kegs of flour were on display. A man in their tour group had been 'escorted' out by the security guards for smoking and refusing to put it out. The guide had explained to them that when flour was packaged so tightly, even the smallest amount of fire could cause the entire thing to blow up. This had caused many deaths, especially when fire was commonly used for cooking, and could easily get out of hand. Ian had told Alex, jokingly, that if he ever needed an impromptu bomb, just go to a bakery and throw a cigarette at it. Now, Alex thanked his uncle for the experience. It just might save his life in a minute. Or destroy it, depending on the strength.

Counting down, approximately six seconds later, he heard an enormous boom, and the entire shop shuddered from the explosion. Burning debris flew everywhere, and white dust rained down from the ceiling. The wall that had once stood in front of him was now a lump of broken bricks, and there was a large gap in the floor where the barrel had been.

He waited a few more seconds, then hesitantly uncurled himself from his position. Dust was still clouding the air, but it would soon settle, and leave the shop clear to the public. Already the spy could hear screams from the passer-byes, and it wouldn't be long until the sirens would join them.

He walked over to the sink, where he wiped the dirt and dye from the top layer of his hair. Then, he placed the real shopkeeper's reading glasses on the sink, removed the apron, and limped out of the side of the building, which was also missing a wall.

After considering it for a moment, he grabbed a pastry from the piles of baking trays by the sink to eat on the way to the bank. After all the work he did, Alex felt that he deserved it. He bit into the golden, frosted outside. Then he reached the creamy white center with tiny red specks in it...it was flavored PEPPERMINT! Of all the options, of all the days...

Alex re-thought his opinion of luck. It might show up life-or-death circumstances, but when you needed it most? Gone.

* * *

A/N: So, I finally figured out how to work the document thing, and am writing an author's note! Um...soooo....do you like it? Yes? No? Review worthy? *ducks flying rotten tomatoes, with a single cantalope in the middle* um...well, review anyways, peeps! It helps me make this story 5.343221701 times better! And, I make a point to review ANY story I read, good or bad, so your efforts in boosting this author's confidence (or helping her make it better so you can THEN boost her confidence) are greatly appreiciated. AND, the next chapter (with a pretty cheezy title.. *sigh*) is almost ready, and it will be the ABSOLUTE FASTEST I have EVER updated! In my writing HISTORY! How exciting is that!!! Thanks for your time!

TheNotedMusician


	2. The Military and Intelligence Bank

**Beacons is the Welsh Word for Hell**

**2. The Military and Intelligence Bank**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider, or anything else copywrited (and really, anything else mentioned) in this story. Happy? And, don't sue me for, like, 'disgracing Anthony Horowitz's wonderful work' or something like that. :D I'm TRYING, peoples, I'm TRYING! So, without further ado, on to the story! Hope you like it!_**

The soft crinkle of a candy wrapper was the only sound in the room. If you were to travel past the grey, sound-proof walls, the cement and reinforced steel frame, and the complex security and bio-hazard protection systems, you would find a perfectly normal, red brick outside. There, birds sang and the cars made wizzing noises like waves as they passed it on the nearby street. But, in the grey room with impregnable walls and bullet-proof windows, the only sounds of life filled two out of three inhabitants with annoyance and dread.

Finally, the older male broke the silence.

"Crawley sent us a report just before you arrived." The younger male, a blond youth with serious brown eyes, did not respond. The room's occupants sat emotionlessly and somewhat thoughtfully in the dead silence it was again reduced to. The man, apparently not discouraged, continued.

"We searched the area, and found no other terrorist operatives--Scorpia or another organization--left. The man you captured did indeed survive, and has been brought in to one of our holding cells. We expect that he should wake up in a few hours, at the most, and plan to interrogate him immediately. His backup team in the main room, however, did not survive."

Still, the teenager's stare did not relent. The boy gave no inclination of surprise at the news.

"I'm glad to know how attentive you all are, _after_ I dealt with the situation." The boy finally snapped, annoyance and anger apparent in his tone.

"We also must commend you, Alex." The woman, still sucking on the peppermint, now broke in. "Our agents, it seems, were not as watchful as they should have been, and Scorpia might well have succeeded if not for your quick thinking and creative plan."

Alex did not respond.

"Of course, dead or no, this raises some serious concerns about your safety." Her colleague continued. "If Scorpia is, indeed, determined to kill you at all costs, who knows what they will try next. As the saying goes, 'a cornered fox is more dangerous as a jackal.'"

"We have decided to remove you--temporarily, of course--to a place where you will be safe until all this dies down. You guardian, Ms. Starbright, will be sent back to her parents in America, and we will call in a favor with the CIA to keep her as safe as possible there. The last thing we need is for Scorpia to capture her as leverage against you. However else you think, Alex, you are a valuable agent, and it would be a great inconvenience for us to lose you, or to have you turn against us."

The boy frowned at the other man's apparent cold-heartedness, and looked skeptical when the last bit was mentioned.

The woman, after opening another peppermint, continued.

"Therefore, we will be sending you back to--"

"I'm _not_ going out of the country!" Alex protested, cutting him off. "I'll just be snapped up by some _other_ organization wanting me to spy for them, and it won't be long until I'll be in even _more_ danger than now. Look at the last time, with Skeleton Key. You call _that_ safe, Blunt?"

Alan Blunt, director of MI6 Special Operations, frowned.

"We are not deporting you to America, or to any other country, for that matter. If you had let Mrs. Jones finish, you would know that you will be going--for protection _and _for more training--to the SAS camp you attended right before Stormbreaker. Breacon Beacons, in Wales."

The young spy's mouth opened partway, then closed. He was silent.

"As the unit you joined previously, letter K, will not be returning until two weeks after you arrive, you will be attached to F-Unit in the meantime. For the first week, they will be testing you in endurance, fitness, obstacle courses, languages, hand-to-hand combat, firearms, and the other basics of SAS training. Then, you will be placed in the appropriate level for the classes we have enrolled you in, according to that evaluation. We have also hired a tutor to help you catch up on the work you missed at school, then continue to teach you what you would be learning there. That way, you will receive all the benefits of leaving, and none of the downsides.

You will remain at camp uninterrupted for at least two months, by which time this situation should have been handled. After that, we will periodically call you in for missions and the like. Your current team may occasionally be joining you as either backup or as part of your cover. Any questions?"

Alex shook his head slowly, still processing this flood of information.

"Good, you leave tomorrow evening. Pack anything you wish to bring--I don't believe I have to tell you which items or how much to take--and be outside you house at exactly 5:00 sharp. We have already had a word with Smithers. He has a few gadgets for you, as well as the documentation and protocol that all agents in our employ must sign."

He raised a hand to stop the young spy's interruption. "It will be no different from what you already do, and is necessary now that you do not go to school or live with a guardian. We have avoided it thus far for only those reasons, and it simply spells out the rules and limitations both parties must follow."

Alex hesitated, frowning. "But, won't that mean that I'm an actual agent? In case you've forgotten, I'm barely old enough to have a summer job. I can't drink, drive, or vote. And you want me to be, in theory, no different from anyone else that works for you?"

"We realize that, Alex. However, you have the full capabilities of one, and anything that you don't know you soon will learn with the SAS. This contract will mostly spell out the benefits you will receive, and, considering what you have been doing for us already, merely recognizes that work." Mrs. Jones explained.

The teenager was reluctant, but realized that he wasn't getting out of it just yet. And, as unlikely as it seemed, he had actually began to enjoy some elements of the job. Having known the world of spies and danger, it was simply impossible to return to a normal life again. He had changed too much for that. "Alright, I'll do it."

"Then welcome back to MI6, Agent Rider. You remember the way to Smithers's office, I presume?" The spy nodded in response.

"See you in two months, then." He replied, then exited the room.

As he made his way towards the inventor's office, he was given many odd looks along the way. After all, it wasn't every day that you saw a fourteen year old boy wandering through the halls of MI6. However, he made it to the room without incident, and knocked firmly on the door.

**********

Leaving the room behind, Alex became lost in his thoughts. Was that the right thing to do? He had made the final, somewhat dreaded decision much earlier than he expected, and the choice was one that he was still unsure about. Should he have chosen a life of normality, without the terror and drama of the hidden world, that was nevertheless just as important as the 'reality'? The one that was easier, but meaningless; less painful, though the same pain still existed in the world.

It was a choice that his father had made, and Ian and even Ash. And where did that get them? Dead, gone at the hands of a friend, or living a miserable existence for fourteen years, before finally dying as Ash should have that night in Mdina. Nothing to aspire to there...

Still, there was also the other part, which he knew was their reason to do it. John and Ian, of course. Ash had admitted it was all about the money. There was the ability to make a difference in the world, to stop disaster and the like from happening. And he knew that every time he stopped a terrorist or a psycho, it was countless other lives that were saved. Weighing the pros against the cons, Alex knew he had made the right choice.

"Hey, kid!" Alex turned around (assuming correctly that he would be the only kid in the room) to see a tall man with a balding head and a gray mustache standing there with a patronizing look.

"Yes?" Alex went for respectful and I'm-not-doing-anything-wrong-or-abnormal-so-why-are-you-stopping-me. After all, it wasn't the man's fault he didn't know about the teen spy.

"The lobby's down there. Are you lost? Interns aren't supposed to wander around, especially not up here where the _real _work's done. And who's your supervisor? You won't get in trouble _this_ time, but if I see you around here again, there's going to be a problem, understand me? Well?"

Alex carefully kept his face blank and emotionless as the man talked on, not even giving him a chance to answer the questions. This man was just another bully, probably not even high up, enjoying his chance to lord it over a young intern. Unfortunately for him, Alex was neither a push-over, nor going against the rules, and he had a history of putting bullies in their place.

"I assure you that I am not lost. And neither am I an intern. And if you want more information or have a complaint about this, you can take it up with the heads. I have every right to be here, and you should know that Blunt and Jones do not just tell _anybody_ everything that happens here. Particularly not you. Now, if you excuse me, I need to get home." A small, shocked silence accompanied his speech.

"You aren't telling me that they're employing _children_ as spies now! Preposterous! If they were that desperate, _I_ wouldn't be doing deskwork, and everyone would have heard about it. Now, you will not only be in trouble for wandering around, but for telling those ridiculous--"

He was cut off by a gasp: "John?"

Due to the extreme loudness of the first man's response, his co-workers had come to see what was the matter. After all, this was MI6--you could never be too careful. The person who had said that was an older, brownish gray-haired man who was staring at Alex as if he was a ghost. Alex gave him a confused look.

"I'm _Alex_. Alex Rider. My father was named John, though."

The man seemed to have been an agent in the past, due to the number of faint scars on his face, and his slight limpas he approached the teen. He also seemed strangely excited to meet him. That never seemed to end well for the spy.

"I...my name is Brooks. Austin Brooks. I was a friend of your father's, and we worked together once or twice. I heard he had a son, but they said you died in the...well...they said that you died with your parents."

"Pleased to meet you." Alex responded, somewhat stunned. This was the _last_ thing he had expected. "And I almost did, but I got an infection at the last moment, and had to stay behind. I was supposed to be sent later, but..."

"What is going _on_ here? How do you know him? And what the _hell_ is a kid doing in MI6?!" The spy had almost forgotten about the man from earlier.

"Calm down, Derwat. Alex is an old friend of mine's son. And considering his history, I'm sure he has more than enough reason to be here. You don't need to yell at anyone who puts so much as a toe out of line here. It's not like you're in charge, at any rate." Here, Derwat started to open his mouth in angry indignation, but was cut off again. "Just leave it, and go back to your desk." The bald man, Derwat, stared at his colleague, mouth opening and closing. "That applies to the rest of you, as well. Go on, don't you have work to do?"

Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Derwat stood there for one more second, then finally turned around and stalked back to his cubical. Alex could hear him slamming various things in his anger, and shook his head the man's temper. No wonder the heads didn't want him in the field.

"Sorry about him, he hasn't been very happy with his job, as of late, and he takes it out on anyone available. It's nothing personal, you just happened to be there." Brooks was speaking again. "Where are you going? If you're allowed to tell me, of course."

"I'm just leaving." Alex replied. "But I was going to see if there was a back entrance, or something." At the other's curious look, he elaborated. "I had a pretty bad experience with that door, and I tend to get...paranoid when I have to go through it."

Brooks nodded in understanding. "If you go to the back of the third floor, then take the elevator to the first, there's a different set of rooms, and a way out. I can show you, if you like."

Alex thanked him, and the man closed (and locked) his office door, then showed him how to get out. On the way, they talked a bit, and Alex found that Brooks was more than happy to tell him about his dad. Whereas Ash had known him outside of the office and at the end of his life, Austin Brooks had actually met him in Oxford, and they had kept in touch when they both entered the army, then Special Operations. Brooks had done in-field communications when he was younger, and had helped to organize many operations and even the contact between Alex's dad and the mission heads while he was in deep cover. He had actually been there that night in Malta, and had watched everything from the control tower.

It was the second time Alex had heard the story, but hearing it from Brooks was completely different. Now, it was as if all the emotion from the heat of the battle was gone, and instead, he could look at it from a different perspective. However, he still couldn't help the wave of anger that he felt when thinking of his former godfather. The traitor! Seeing his discomfort, Brooks changed the subject to Alex's missions, and he gave him a brief outline, not knowing how much to say. In return, he was given a vague description of the other's career in the field.

By the time they had reached the exit, Alex felt a sort of companionship growing between the man, and wondered if they would ever see each other again.

Then, he closed the door behind him, and stepped out into the darkening sunset. Jack would be waiting for him, and he wanted to make his last day and a half home memorable. Who knew when they would next have the chance? Alex himself could only guess what the future would hold.

* * *

So...do you like? I'm not entirely happy with it, and it's a LOT less funny than I intended it to be, but ohwell...at least I wrote it, right? I left out the actual visit to Smithers for three main reasons: one, so that I could update sooner/didn't have to write it, two, he's been there so many times, I feel that it would be more original to _not_ put it in, and three, it leaves me a wonderful blank space to either add gadgets to his pile, or surprise the reader with one of them. Questions? Problems? REVIEW! :D Thanks again for your time!

Note: To the un-signed-in reviewer who asked 'What was wrong with peppermint?': I meant absolutely no offence--I like it, too. However, a certain Tulip Jones seems to share our interest, and she's not exactly on Alex's 'Favorite People' list. Also, he was about to go to see her, so that thing would be almost on the top of his head.... Hope that answered your question. And thanks (in fact, thanks to ALL of you!) so much for reviewing!

TheNotedMusician

P.S. Thanks again SO much for all you reviewers, and everyone who has read this. This isn't an update, specifically (though, fyi, I'm about halfway finished Chapter 3, and I just MIGHT update tommorow! :D ), I just edited this one, and then replaced it. Good Reading, everyone!


	3. Paved With Good Intentions

**Beacons is the Welsh Word for Hell**

**3. Paved With Good Intentions**

_Plop, plop._

Alex stared at the raindrops falling on the window of the covered military jeep. The car had been driving along the same road for at least half an hour, and with nothing to do, no change of scenery, and no one to talk to--he certainly would _not_ converse with the man driving it--Alex Rider was bored.

Bored was something Alex was not accustomed to being. Having grown up with Ian, lived with Jack, then having MI6 enter his life, he spent the least exciting times alone in a cell fearing for his life (and plotting how to get out). Which was not, exactly, boring.

But he had already slept for the first few hours of the journey, and had been staring out the window for the past three. It had been raining for two hours, thirty-one minutes, and five and a half--no, six seconds. Alex knew because he had counted. That was how bored he was.

So to alleviate this boredness, he was staring out the window...at the rain. And the trees. And the bumpy dirt roads (seriously, were they back to the time of dinosaurs, or something?). And...well....that was it. He was starting to mentally thank Crawley for knocking him out the last time he made the trip.

Still utterly bored, Alex began composing poetry in his head, to get out his steaming emotions.

_There once was a guy named Blunt_

_He was the victim of a hunt_

_His agents attacked him_

_And by the time they were finished_

_He was just a grey old lump_

Yeah...no. Changing tactics, he began pondering the mystery of K-Unit. Erm... Well, ok. More like, reassessing the list of curse words in his head. He noted a surprising amount in the Japanese category (Ian had once attempted to teach him the basics, but these were the only words that had really stayed in his mind) and a disappointing lack for Spanish. Oh, well, he could always use French. As in the language spoke in France, not the other 'French'. Though, now that he thought about it, it was kind of _both_...

The previously light raindrops were now splattering on the window with the force of a full-blown hurricane. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and a boom of thunder accompanied the explosion of a nearby tree.

He sighed, and glanced over at the driver. If the man noticed anything to be wrong, he didn't show it. Alex considered doing something (even striking up a conversation!) with him just for the sake of annoying the man, but the spy didn't think that would make the best impression. Not that he cared about impressing these people. It was just that, they were expecting an immature teenager, and would therefore set themselves up as coldhearted, emotionless, adults to contrast it. They wouldn't consider working with him or even respecting him if the spy couldn't meet them on the same level, or more.

Therefore, Alex was fully prepared to act the cold, uncaring spy that was completely atypical--even impossible--for a normal teenager. To pretend every second in Breacon was a mission in enemy territory. Because, in a way, it was. They weren't the enemy, but they might set themselves up as such. In fact, if F-Unit's reaction was anything like K's, they would be combatants in every way but name. So, he would go in expecting the worst, and hoping for something a _little_ better. Not optimistic, of course; the world had rid him of that much naïveté. But, he would be willing to accept _something_...if it came.

*********

The minute he saw F-Unit, he knew it would be the same as last time. F-Unit, however, did not react anything like he expected.

The jeep with the emotionless driver had dropped him off in the middle of the camp, right in front of the Head Cabin, with the Sergeant's office and the Communications Center. He had the stood there in the mud and rain for almost fifteen minutes, wondering if he should just try to find his unit himself.

But when he was almost ready to give up and storm the Sergeant's office demanding where they were, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Hey, kid! You're Cub?" Turning around, Alex saw the speaker was a large, burly man with dark brown hair that clung to his head in the rain. Standing to his left was a shorter blond man, and a guy with lighter, curly brown hair. On the right was a tall, dark-haired soldier who looked absolutely miserable in the rain.

Altogether, they made a formidable picture. But when they properly saw Alex for the first time, they all started gaping shamelessly. The young spy gave them a look. Surely they had realized how young he was, even from looking at the back of his head. No adult was _that_ small.

"Aren't...weren't you..." The one on the right said.

"I'm a teenager, if that's what you mean." Alex said, nonplussed.

"No, he means... Yeah, I think you're right, Falcon. He was." The one in the middle said.

"I was _what_ exactly?" Alex snapped, annoyed at this strange turn in the events. What were they talking about?

"At, well...last summer." Alex raised his eyebrows. "We were on call in case of emergency. We sent in to this weird old church in London, that had all these Scorpia agents in it. They told us they had one of their people in there--they showed us a picture so we wouldn't hurt him accidentally--and, well...we think it was you."

Alex was silent, remembering the events at the Church of the Forgotten Saints as clearly as his meeting with Blunt the day before. He had known that MI6 used SAS as the backups, but he had never thought, of all the soldiers...

Coincidence? He didn't think so. The Secret Services would want to keep the people who knew about him to a minimum, and, missing K-Unit, had put him with the next best option--those who had seen him in the field. He noticed they were still watching him.

"Yeah. That was me. Where's the cabin?" He told them, hoping they would take the hint and leave him alone. Even the name of Scorpia still filled him with fear, anger, and dread.

"It's over there; number 6." The blond told him. "I'm Leopard, by the way. That's Deer," He pointed to the one with curly, brown hair. "Falcon," This was the tall, miserable looking man who was the first to speak. "And the team's leader, Bear. We're F-Unit, in case you didn't know already."

"I'm Cub," Alex told them. "And I'm technically part of K."

"Well, come on." Falcon told them. "Let's get out of the rain. I, for one, don't want to get soaked." His teammate, Leopard, muttered something about how he should have been called Cat instead. Alex stifled a laugh. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

*********

Famous last words.

After scaling two rock walls, traversing three different mud pits on impossible ropes courses, and taking a swim in a freezing, dirty lake, Alex was more than ready to take back any positive feelings he had had towards the place.

Now, he was in the middle of a narrow strip of grass, lined with woods on either side. There was a tall wire fence on either side where the two types of vegetation met, and no way to go around it. The strip of land looked painfully innocent and undisturbed, but the teen superspy knew better. Conceding that it was the only way, he ignored his instincts screaming at him, and stepped forwards.

Nothing happened.

He scanned the area around him, then the ground, easing his weight from foot to foot. Still nothing. But his instincts were telling him a different story, and Alex had learned to trust them--especially where his life was concerned.

Alex took another step, then another, keeping the same caution in each, but nothing happened. Then, _click._ Alex realized he had stepped on a landmine just in time, thanks to the test in Australia. Were _all_ the SAS forces obsessed with them?

Relying on his previous experience--and the barely comforting knowledge that they didn't _really_ want to kill him--Alex tensed, and then jumped. The spy had gone for distance rather then speed, and he hit the ground rolling farther away. Just in time.

The explosion fell barely short of him, and he watched red paint fly everywhere, splattering trees and grass. The sound was somewhat deafening so close, and Alex could feel the tremors in the ground. The spy breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked the Colonel Abbott for the test they had put him through for the second time only. The first had been half-drowned in the jungle, when he had used the battery.

The spy cautiously got to his feet again, scanning the nearby land for new dangers. None were in sight, for the moment. Then, Alex saw that the land became more rocky, and finally rose to a man-made cliff not far ahead. The final challenge. He almost sighed in relief, before reminding himself what he had to get through first.

Alex took a few more steps, watching around him all the while. Then, he stopped. Something was wrong, something was about to happen. He looked more closely at his surroundings, but still saw nothing. His instincts, however, didn't lie.

The teen ran through a list in his head of what it could be. Not a sniper (besides, the SAS were too straightforward for _that_ underhanded of a tactic). Not another mine, either. They would want to put in as much variety as possible in the limited test. Trip wire? Maybe. He gently pulled loose a piece of hair out, then held it between his hands, and ran it up and down right in front of him. It was another trick he had learned from Scorpia--the hair would be so much weaker than the wire, that it would break before enough pressure pulled the wire. Nope, nothing. Then, what could it be?

He thought back to his last visit at the Beacons, in the Killing House. There wouldn't be alarms, he had already checked for trip wires...infrared beams! K-Unit had used cigarette smoke to detect them. But, he didn't have that here. Improvisation, then.

Alex plucked a small stick off a nearby tree, and un-zipped the left pocket in his combat gear, where he kept a few of the gadgets Smithers had given him. The small, but thick lens of a magnifying glass (that could also be attached to the front of a sniper rifle, and had infrared vision, as well as a multitude of other things) shined brightly in his hand. He held it so it caught the sun that had finally come out, and within seconds, the stick had emitted a wisp of smoke. It was still green and full of sap, so it emitted much more smoke than normal for a stick before it caught fire. That was good with him.

The spy gently blew it away from him (hoping his eyes wouldn't start to tear up), and it gradually began to spread across the path. Alex squinted in the meager light, and finally noticed a barely visible beam of light not three inches from his right arm. Another one was a few feet away, face level for him, and still another crossed diagonally to the left of his foot.

He deemed it impossible to go around them--they were most likely originating from sources outside the fence, and so carefully blew out most of the fire, and began to slowly weave his way between the rays.

Almost ten minutes, and three sticks later, Alex emerged from the other side, where the entire grassland/forest arrangement stopped. After carefully checking over the new area, he decided that there were no more infrared rays, and completely doused the fire, then pocketed the scope.

When he was a few yards away from the wall, he heard a disturbance coming...through the rock in front of him. He frowned. Unbelievably, however, a small section of it started to open just like a door, and out came four men. F-Unit, looking somewhat apologetic, and guilty. Uh-oh. _Not_ a good sign.

They noticed him staring at them as they lined up in between him and the final challenge. The soldiers were stubbornly refusing to look at him. Finally, Bear spoke.

"Look, we're really sorry about this, Cub. And, believe me, we tried to see if there was another way, especially when we realized you were, well...real, and not some stuck up kid, or something. And I definitely don't think it's fair, or anything--you against an entire unit, you know. But, without permission, there really wasn't anything we could do, so..." He trailed off, looking awkward, but Alex had understood too well.

He was supposed to fight them. An entire SAS team, that had been in training together for who knew how long, and probably just as much in the real world. Him! A child! The teen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Then again, it looked like they felt really guilty about it, and would probably to easy on him. And he had picked up quite a lot about fighting superior forces in the last year. With the element of surprise, he might just have a chance.

"They...they expect me to _fight_ you?" He asked, lip trembling. F-Unit looked about to melt with pity and guilt. Alex felt slightly guilty himself for using them, but rather liked his own skin a little more. Time to lay it on thick. "_All_ of you? At the same time? I mean, I learned a little karate last time here, but, you know. For missions I just really went in and called for backup for the violent parts..."

He began to take small steps towards F-Unit. The team was so wrapped up in pity and ashamed to look at him, that they didn't realize how close he was getting. Big mistake.

"And, I mean, I really don't want to get hurt by you all, or anything. It could break all the trust I have in the army..." Okay, so it was starting to get a _bit_ ridiculous, even by his own acting standards. Luckily, they didn't seem to notice either his over-dramatic words, or the close proximity. He started to sniffle to cover any noise his footsteps made.

"Yeah, Cub, we _really _don't want to, you know." Deer began, scratching his head awkwardly. "It's just, well, orders and al--"

Alex didn't give him the chance to finish. Lightning fast, he struck.

Bear, largest of the four, was easily taken out by the first attack, a light(-ish) blow to the temple knocking him unconscious.

Before they could react, he had spun around and slammed his foot into Falcon's chest, causing him to fall to the ground, winded.

Leopard, finally snapping himself out of the shock, swung a fist at his shoulder, but the spy easily blocked it, and landed three hits on his stomach, chest, and shoulder. Then, he spun around to block Deer's arm, and a quick jab in the neck knocked out the man, leaving only Leopard and a semiconscious Falcon.

The only member of F-Unit in full fighting condition now attacked fiercely, angered at what had happened to his teammates. The spy was forced on defense trying to block them all, and, in his unwillingness to use some of the harsher moves had learned, let a few lighter blows slip past his guard. However, he could see the other blond was tiring, and it only took a few offensive moves to knock him out.

By this time, Falcon had managed to stand up, though still somewhat unsteady. The spy took the few steps to him at a run, and used the momentum to knock him to the ground, flipping him over, and kneeling on top. The soldier still struggled, but Alex pressed lightly on the vein in his neck until the other's moving ceased, and he slipped into the realms of unconsciousness.

Alex slowly stood up, scanning his surroundings for other threats, but found none. Then, he turned his attention to his fallen unit. The spy wondered what he would say when he saw them next, but he hoped they would understand. After all, they would have to fight anyway, and his age alone (much less the four-to-one ratio) was enough of a disadvantage. And they knew he was a spy, after all. A little acting was expected.

He now examined the rock wall, planning out a path in his mind. Then, he placed a hand on the cool, damp stone, and started to climb.

*********

"You made it." Alex had entered the trailer at the end of the course, and had immediately seen the Sergeant. In front of the man was a large screen that showed the last section of the obstacle course that Alex had just exited. He was holding a stopwatch, and looking somewhat surprised.

"Yes sir." Alex said, trying to keep the sarcastic edge out of his voice. Even before his tenure with MI6 began, he had been able to complete the simpler courses. A year later, of course he could do one that was barely more challenging.

"F-Unit is in the infirmary." The Sergeant told him, expressionless. "You really did a number on them. The medics think they should be waking up soon."

He hesitated then continued. "You did a good job, Cub. Most of my soldiers had a hard time going through the obstacles, and you were one of the only ones to figure out the lasers. Even if the method was rather...unusual."

Alex blinked at the praise, knowing how rare it was that the Sergeant complimented people. Particularly a teen whom he had been determined to hate previously.

"Thank you, sir."

The other man seemed to realize how out of character he was being. "Of course, that means a lot more will be expected of you, know that we know what you can do. Now, go wait for your unit to wake up, you all have shooting practice next, and you still have to be tested on it."

"Of course sir, right away, sir." Alex responded, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes at the quick personality shift. Dreading the confrontation to come, he headed towards the infirmary.

*********

For Alex, the worst part was waiting for them to wake up. Not having any injuries more serious then bruises, they had simply been left in their beds until they woke up and could go about their day. It was almost ten minutes, however, before they first began to show signs of waking, and they gave Alex plenty of time to take in just how badly they were hurt.

Deer was in the best shape, as he had only blocked him, then lightly struck his neck. Bear also only had a bruise forming near his head where the spy's hit had connected.

Leopard, however, had taken three solid hits, as well as the ones Alex had used to knock him out, and small injuries from their volley of hits. Those Alex himself had, though sparse. Falcon also had a dark bruise forming on his chest where the teen had kicked him, and a few others from being knocked to the ground and held there.

Alex himself, besides minor bruising on his arms and torso, was completely unhurt.

Finally, however, his misery was ended as Falcon began to stir. The soldier seemed slightly disoriented upon waking, and seemed to be trying to remember how he ended up there, and who the kid was.

While that happened, Leopard also started waking up, followed closely by Deer. Bear was still out cold.

"What...what happened?" Asked Falcon, looking around. His eyes fell on Cub. "We were fighting you, and you beat all of us...?"

Alex shifted guiltily. "Yeah...about that? I, um, I know I sort of took advantage of you guys feeling sorry for me and all, but, really. It was the only way I could think of to take you _all_ on at the same time, and to be fair, it was _pretty_ obvious that I was doing _something_, so..."

The three conscious members of F-Unit were staring him. A groan from the remaining one, Bear, broke the awkward silence. The medics finally realized that they were awake, and moved in between them, asking questions to make sure they were alright.

"We're _fine_, really." Leopard was telling them. "We don't need to be checked or anything, and we have shooting practice in ten minutes."

Bear waved away the men's last attempts to keep him in bed, and in less than five minutes, they were all headed to the Shooting Range on the far side of the camp.

"Look, guys. You _do_ know how sorry I am about that, right? It was the only way I thought I could take you all on, and I had to knock you out to end the fight..." Alex said, once they were free of eavesdropping medics.

"Yeah, it's fine, Cub." Bear told him. "I would have done the same in your position. But don't think we're falling for that trick again." He grinned. "Next time we fight, we're going to see how good you _really_ are against us."

Alex sighed quietly in relief. They weren't mad after all. Still, he made a mental note to avoid their next fight, just in case.

"Now, come on guys!" Said Falcon. "We only have five minutes if we want to get there on time." He started a slow jog, and the others followed suit.

They made it there just in time.

They entered a wide terminal-like building that had boxes of equipment on one side of it and various firearms hanging from the other wall. Straight in front of them were almost twenty different targets, placed about four meters apart. Each target was separated by a thin but strong-looking white wall, and had a rough wooden bench outside it, and a table to, assumably, lay extra cartridges on. Alex had rarely seen a building so huge, and was shocked that he never saw it his first time there, even if it was on the far outskirts of the camp.

As the others went to get earplugs and guns, Alex was approached by a tall, muscular man of about forty. His brown hair was cropped close to his face, and his eyes were small, but sharp, set closely in his tan, weathered face.

"You're Cub, right?" He asked, glancing at the rest of F-Unit. Alex nodded. "My name's Sanders, and I'm in charge of the shooting range. The Sergeant said you were supposed to be tested first, and then you'll be on one of the SpecOps programs, depending on how good you are. That right?"

"Yeah." Alex was surprised how open and friendly the man was being. He was one of the few that Alex hadn't met last time, since MI6 had denied him weapon training.

"Right. So, a lot of our men here came from the army, or had some military background, so I usually don't have to ask this question. Don't take offence or anything, but have you ever actually held a gun before? In real life?"

Alex frowned slightly. "Of course."

"And did you shoot it?"

"Yes..."

"I don't mean to pick on you because of your age or anything, kid. I just need to have a realistic idea of what you can do or not do. Since you've at least shot once, you should know what to expect, how it feels, etc. Takes a long time for some people to get past that original fear. Now, we need to show you how to hold the gun properly, and some basic firearms safety--"

"I've been taught how to shoot." The spy interrupted, slightly annoyed now. The older man blinked in surprise at that statement. "I know it doesn't say it on my file, but my uncle taught me when I was younger, and I was trained more intensely while undercover on a mission."

"Oh..." The man didn't seem to know what to say. "Well, if you think you're confident enough, why don't you start on the basic levels of the targets. I'll stay and watch for a bit to see which level class you should be in. And for safety reasons, of course. Just in case."

He seemed to be a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he sat down on the bench to watch him. It obviously placed there for that purpose. That was okay with Alex, they had made it even more nerve wracking at Malagosto, and he was much less confident, then.

Picking up the gun, he let his grip mold around the handle, relaxed but confident. He weighed the weapon carefully, then stood still for a moment in order to remember the instinct and training he once had. Then, stepping up to the line, he pressed the 'start' button, and waited for the target to show.

After a few seconds of watching, a large target came forwards from the back, then stopped abruptly. He raised the gun, cleared all thoughts beside the gun and the small dot barely visible in the center of the bulls-eye. His finger curled around the trigger, and he fired.

*********

After F-Unit had done their minimum number of rounds, they went to see how their new teammate was doing. Approaching the shooting instructor, they were shocked to find a bewildered, surprised look on his face. Glancing in to see what was the matter, they were astounded.

Their youngest team member was already on some of the most advanced levels for shooting--and doing perfectly. The spy seemed more at ease with the gun than with anything else they had seen him doing, and it scared them to a certain degree. His face was completely blank, but it was as if the deadly weapon was an extension of his arm or leg. Cub didn't seem to notice them, he was so focused on his work. The round finished, and the targets came in closer so he could determine his accuracy. Bulls-eyes. Every single one of them, and most in the center of even _that_.

Alex turned around after he finished, hearing more people. And blinked. The entire F-Unit plus the instructor was staring at him. Slightly disturbed, he flipped the safety back on, then laid the gun on the small table. They were still staring, so he cleared his throat.

"Jesus, Cub!" Bear swore, finally breaking out of his trance. "Where the _hell_ did you learn to shoot like that?"

Alex shrugged, not looking at them. He was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable with the staring.

"W-well..." Sanders finally stuttered. "I guess we don't need to go over the basics, then. Do we?"

An explosion of noise saved him from having to answer. The sound-proof doors had burst open to admit the next unit scheduled for shooting practice, signaling their time to leave.

"Well, I-I'll make sure to put you in one of the higher classes, then." Sanders seemed to be coming out of his shock at the reappearance of normality. "And...I'll enjoy working with you, Cub. Good job today, all of you."

And with that, Bear silently lead them back over to the supply wall, then over to their next block of exercises.

********

The rest of the day went by in a blur of combat practice, driving, and swimming. Then and over the following week, Alex continued to shock the rest of his unit with his performance until they didn't think they could be surprised any more. The next week, the testing was finished, and the spy found himself learning negotiation tactics, fighting while out-armed and outnumbered (one of his least favorites, largely due to the bruises that formed afterwards), Arabic, Hebrew, and Russian. F-Unit plus Alex attended lectures, completed courses, learned how to parachute (Alex completed this jump), and worked on shooting.

The tutor Blunt had mentioned had shown up three days after his arrival. The spy had been dreading meeting them, but it turned out to be a fairly nice man in his mid-thirties, whose name was Michael. He insisted that Alex call him Mike, though, and he seemed both intelligent and social enough to get along wonderfully with. Since he also taught the French classes for the normal soldiers, he sometimes asked Alex to help him with the lesson plans, and they compiled a list of what was helpful and unhelpful from the teen's previous teachers. Together, they tackled the enormous amount of material he had missed, and then the normal lessons he should be learning in school. Of course, giving their surroundings, Mike couldn't help teaching him some...less scholastic things, like successful war tactics versus unsuccessful, and politics within the Secret Services.

The two weeks flew by, and before Alex could even catch his breath, K-Unit was due to arrive the next day. The spy was surprised to find himself disappointed not only at the pending awkward reunion, but for leaving F-Unit. Over the half-month that they had worked, eat, and slept together (erm...not _that_ way!), they had started to bond (keep your mind out of the gutter, peoples!) much more than his previous SAS experiences. In fact, he could genuinely say they were something approaching on friends (_just_ friends, though. God, you all _are_ perverted!). So, he was slightly sorry to leave them for an almost certain hostile group.

It was with dread, then that he received a message from the Sergeant to meet his old unit at the same place that F-Unit picked him up. He was slightly curious, though, about who would be replacing Fox. Even though they had been split up in the field (since it was only Wolf that was at Point Blank), it seemed that K-Unit would be reuniting. So, who would it be? He hoped it wasn't another old face from his past, the reunions were getting slightly annoying.

Walking slowly over--he had plenty of time--he thought about all the possible situations could happen. After all, it was just K-Unit, right? By the time he got there, he was dripping wet (it had started raining _again_, while he walked) and the spot was empty. However, he heard unusual noises coming from around the corner.

Creeping silently over, staying in the shadows, Alex was greeted by the sight of four old faces wrestling in the mud by the bushes. Wait a minute! He knew _all_ of them? There was Wolf, disagreeable as ever; Snake, cautioning his teammates while squirming in Eagle's enthusiastic headlock, and...who was the other person? He was now in the shadows, but the spy had recognized the person for a brief second in the light.

Lightning flashed, followed by thunder, but Alex hardly heard the ominous rumbling in the distance. Instead, he was focused on the pale face he had met months ago in Malagosto. Walter, the American ex-spy, who had turned over to Scorpia. Now, it looked like he had flipped again. For MI6. Or did he?

* * *

A/N: So... *ducks flying rotten tomatoes, and a watermelon, which lands on a plastic spork, then topples off a cliff into the waters of doom...otherwise known as the Cloaca Maxima (the Roman sewage system...yuck!)* Um, I know this was _really_ not funny, and _really_ awkward, and _really _bad, but... Hey, at least it's long! Look on the bright side of death...erm...life, I mean. Because we're definately NOT dead. DEFINATELY. _And_ I now have a possibly evil twin/sidekick named Walter the Spoon Fighter... Let's see if he double crosses the ketchup! :D

So, if you're still reading my insane ramblings, you should know to take a little pity on me with this chapter. I had to completely create F-Unit, Sanders, the training, Mike, and a lot of the specifics that Mr. Horowitz didn't mention for a reason. And let me tell you, it's _really_ awkward writing about going to a shooting range when you've never done more than play laser tag once in your life. If any of you actually_ do_ know what it's like, please tell me, since that all was a _very_ wild guess. And, I also fixed the previous chapter (nothing content-wise, just style and grammer, with the occasional typo), but I didn't want to repost it and cause a false alarm until I had an update. You don't have to reread it, though, it really isn't that different.

And about updates soon...now that I got a big hunk of awkwardness out, I should be updating a _little_ quicker, though probably not quite as long. The sad news is, I'm going on vacation in a week, so you won't hear from me for a while after that. So, I plan to get a large chunk of this done as fast as possible before then, then leave off at the cliffie where you think Alex died...oh no! My evil plans have been discovered! Though, I actually have written the epilogue for this, and...jk. :D

Anyways, thanks to anyone who actually read all of this, and thanks SO MUCH to EVERYONE who is reading this. And to the people that reviewed? They are absolutely _fabulous_ for my self-confidence and my writing speed, as they encourage me and make me feel guilty about reading instead of writing! :D So, I'll see you guys in a few days, right?

Thanks for reading!

TheNotedMusician


End file.
